The Hour
by whileimhere10
Summary: Sister Mary Eunice becomes obsessed with Lana's internal monologue and is displeased with her less than flattering characterization. Rated M for future chapters
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I know, I know, Bananun is horrible. But is it really? I think it might actually be pretty genius. This may be a long one, but I hope you decide to stick it out, if only to see Sister Mary Eunice get super miffed and try her hardest to impress the intrepid Miss Winters. My heart breaks every time I think of all the abuse poor Lana suffers, and I feel like she deserves a break, even if it's only in fanfictionland. All standard disclaimers apply. Nothing is mine; it all belongs to Mr. Murphy et al. Rated M for language at this point. Reviews are the stars in my sky.**

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><p>The real reason that Lana had shied away from writing fiction had to do with an inability to buy in. Wendy had asked her about it once, strong jaw dripping with moonlit shadows as they lay in bed. Lana's response was predictably rational: there was too much reality to tell without involving imagination. The real skill in her craft was taking the facts of life and molding them into a narrative. Fiction was nice, but fiction was to journalism what stories about geese were to a Pulitzer, and she wasn't interested in second tier story-telling. She didn't want to admit to her lover that she had a hard time with unreality. It seemed like something that would be unattractive. When other children had listened rapt to the adventures of Dick and Jane, she had been scrutinizing her teacher's expression, intonation, and clothing, searching for clues about her life away from the classroom. A snoop, someone had called her. A snoop, but not a poet. Creative, but not inventive. The script-writer but never the composer.<p>

Lana's ability to become an observer had saved her in Briarcliff. Scraps of paper occupied her hands and mental drafts of her expose swept through her thoughts long enough to dull the day to day horrors. Her cell at night was a bullpen of dissociative coping. If she could file away the events of the morning, she could make it through the afternoon. If she could organize her thoughts about conversion therapy, she could anchor herself in the strength of her own beliefs.

"Say it out loud." A voice commanded in the darkness.

Lana's head snapped up and her hands trembled in horror as the shadowy silhouette of Sister Mary Eunice lolled at the bars of her door. She hoped the volatile nun was speaking to someone down the hall. She wasn't.

"I have a particular fondness for poetry, especially the naughty kind. Say it out loud."

"I'm not a poet, sister. I'm a journalist." Lana's overworked adrenal glands managed a burst of productivity, and she felt her already grimy body squeeze out a fresh coat of sweat.

"A journalist tells the facts, Miss Winters. I want to hear what it _feels_ like, and I'm looking for something a little more nuanced than a scream." She paused and breathed out harshly. "Don't make me come in there." Keys jangled at the door and Lana began speaking as quickly as she could.

"It was torture. Burning. Scalding. My mind, intangible and separate from my grey matter, was somehow brought down to Earth for the sole purpose of clipping its wings."

"Excellent." Breathed the shadow. "Tell me more."

Tears collected in Lana's eyes. Her last refuge was being disassembled. Her thoughts were no longer her own. "The softness of my former life is humbling. My drapes, my front door, the mailbox, colors, pine cones, even the hot metal of a car engine seem friendly now. The bread in the bakery has more of a future than we do. The fact that I call us, the inmates, a 'we' is a failure. It's all a failure." She began to weep quietly as the silver needles of Mary Eunice's interrogation raked through the carefully compartmentalized memories she had locked away in order to survive. They fluttered in and out of her subconscious at an alarming rate: The scrape of leather restraints, the smell of her own body, Wendy's bad jokes, the stray cat who yowled on the corner fence down the street.

"Delightful." The nun praised with a giggle. "Delightful. Tell me more about the girl." She paused. "Wendy." She practically purred her name.

Lana snapped into focus, the miasma of misery settling instantly. "No."

"No?"

"No. You've twisted the knife enough for tonight."

"I think you need a soundtrack for your pain, Lana Banana. You'd have quite the movie."

"I can only guess what the song would be if it were up to you, sister."

Mary Eunice's pale fingers wrapped around the grate and her lips were suddenly visible, backlit and burgundy. "Sister Jude was an innovator when it came to petty torture. I admire her technique, but it's a dead end. It kills creativity. I like to think of myself as a director, not a zookeeper."

"Is that right?" Lana glued herself together with anger and rose from the bed to approach the other woman. "I thought you imagined yourself to be the star."

The nun's shoulders raised slightly, "I'm whatever I want to be. And I don't need your mouth to broadcast your thoughts. I'll do it myself." She squinted through the door at Lana's fuming, shadowy silhouette and spouted a narrative. "Under other circumstances, her face would have been beautiful, but the dissonance between her words and her features was jarring, singular, unappealing." Her eyes widened. "Lana, you don't think I'm attractive?"

"Fuck you." Lana spat, balling her hands into fists. "I don't know what you are, but get out of my head."

"Too late. I've found my new favorite game."

Lana fumed, all vulnerability replaced with rage.

Mary Eunice let out a delighted laugh which served to ignite the howls of the other prisoners. Their screams and questions rose and fell against the cement as she spoke, "I had convinced myself that I knew who the enemy was, that the men and women who trapped and tortured me were suffering from a combination of misinformation, religious fervor, ignorance, and personality disorders. I know I was wrong. I know I have always been wrong. There is something evil here, and it doesn't stem from any Earthly power." Her face pressed against the bars with the enthusiasm of a child, an expression that Lana remembered from her first few encounters with the pale, blonde, sister. "Lana, this is genius. I had no idea there was so much going on up there!" Her blue eyes were wide with excitement. 'Keep going, my dear. You're very good. And don't worry about editing. I want the rawest prose you can muster. Give it to me raw, Lana." She purred.

"Fuck you." Lana repeated, completely unnerved by the twitchy joy that sparked across her adversary's face.

The coyote yelps of the other inmates swelled with Mary Eunice's grin and she turned abruptly, letting out a mocking shriek before bringing a nightstick down to rattle across the bars of the cell across the hall. "You're all a bunch of animals!" she cried. Her face appeared again in Lana's window, menacing and severe. "I'll be listening, Miss Winters."

Lana didn't realize that she was holding her breath until she heard the echoes of Mary Eunice's retreating footsteps swallowed up by the screaming. She couldn't sleep. She had known the walls had ears, but she hadn't been prepared for this. The scratchy sheets stuck to her oily skin and she began to re-sort her thoughts, calming herself with the familiar ritual. She asked herself what Wendy would have done, and remembered her lover's positivity with fondness. She could almost hear her voice: _What was the one thing that went well today?_ It asked. She sorted through her day, searching for a little gleam of hope, anything that could help her get through the night and into tomorrow.

_Today_, she thought, _for the first time in my life, I was called a poet_. She dropped the thought into a little box in her mind and admired it. It looked good, like a little golden chain. A poet. A poet. A poet. The thought stayed with her, tucked away next to her other dreams: the Pulitzer, her freedom, the knowledge that somewhere there would be justice. She had never been one for making up stories, but the supernatural abilities and radical transformation of Sister Mary Eunice had her filling in an awful lot of blanks, and for the first time since her admission to Briarcliff, she was able to keep herself distracted by a puzzle that she didn't have the first clue how to solve.


	2. Chapter 2

**I apologize for the slow start with this one. I'm working on a third chapter that will be longer. Thank you for reading!**

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><p>The relentless activity of the day room was something that Lana used to her advantage. On the days she was strong enough to delve into the details, she found new material every minute-a patient abuse here, interesting backstory there. On the days when she was too fragile to absorb any more trauma, she faded away and let the chaos crash around her like white noise. The music, screams, banging, obscenities, and odor were all part of the opening chapter she was trying to scrape together, her mind still reeling from the cocktail of prescriptions and procedures. She saw Mary Eunice across the room and scowled. Just the sight of the willowy nun was enough to intrude on her shaky peace. She watched the sister's movements. Mary Eunice had once been someone who smiled, soothed, scolded, and placated. She was now someone who crept, scratched, hissed, and smirked. Her nails trailed over Mr. Spivey's shoulder as she grimaced in the direction of one of the other sisters. From a distance, Lana saw Mary Eunice's passage through the dayroom like a tornado. She was chaos, she was a spider, one of the many-armed Goddesses she'd seen in National Geographic.<p>

At that thought, a set of baby blue eyes swiveled in her direction. Lana froze in fear as Mary Eunice walked slowly towards her. Her hips rocked at the base of her thin waist. Her composure was stony. Lana swallowed hard as the sister stopped.

"It wasn't that her body had changed," red lips hopped into a smirk for the briefest second, "it was her _intent_. Oh Lana." Mary Eunice cocked her head to the side with an insincere frown "How are you today? If I had to guess, I would say you were feeling prolific."

"Hello sister." Was all that Lana could muster.

"That's it? That mouth of yours is quite a filter. I might have to tell Sister Jude about all those little glances you've been throwing my way."

"No!" Lana exclaimed. She held out her hand, imploring. "Please don't. What do you want?"

Mary Eunice sauntered closer. "Some conversation. A story." She paused, "poetry." She smirked again, "You liked that, didn't you? Fancy yourself a wordsmith? An honest to goodness artist?"

Lana rolled her eyes.

"Come on now, Lana!" Mary Eunice plopped down in the neighboring chair and grabbed her forearm with both hands. "I'm tired of Mr. Spivey's fantasies. They're cheap and banal. I want to hear about your angst. Don't spare the details."

"There's something wrong with you."

"Ok fine. If you won't tell me, I'll be the narrator again. It's clearer without that lisp of yours. " Mary Eunice's eyes flickered closed. "She sucked the air out of the room and replaced it with all kinds of dread-razor blade apples and the like. Her hands on my arm were like a vice." The nun's eyes opened briefly. "That does sound like me. I'm quite strong" She tightened her grip and continued. "She was the pettiest of petty horrors, an irksome cliché with her straight back and blonde hair in the midst of our hunched and mumbled chaos. She somehow fit in, however; a virgin whore walking among us and providing comfort and hurt according to the whims of the moment."

Lana raised an eyebrow in Mary-Eunice's direction and was met with a scowl. Mary-Eunice opened her mouth to speak when the day room doors suddenly flew open and Sister Jude burst in with a flat, "Alright listen up!" Lana's spine straightened and her eyes flew to the older nun. Jude was on a tirade. No one spoke as she detailed the plans of the day. No one but Mary Eunice, who moved closer to Lana's ear and growled.

"Say it. I can hear those words in there, clear as day. I can hear them. Power, ferocity, swarm, footfalls. I hear them. Say them."

"I can't" Lana whispered. The fingers tightened.

"I'll report you."

"Sister Jude" she began in a rushed hush, "was many things, but I had never felt those things from another person. She was the same essence that vibrates across the dirt as the horses come running. She was a blunt force trauma, never the blade. She was a mouth of molars grinding you up."

"Stop." Mary-Eunice commanded, nearly hissing. "Stop it. She isn't those things. She isn't that. She's not teeth. She's not horses. This is melodrama."

Sister Jude whipped around. "You have something to add, Sister Mary Eunice? I'd just _love_ to hear your input." Mary Eunice was silent. "No? How surprising. Anyone else have any bright ideas?" The day room was silent. Jude spun around slowly, sliding through the keys in her hand like a rosary. Turning on her heel, she exited as quickly as she had come.

Lana let out a breath as the music began its squeaky repetition.

"You think it's funny." Mary-Eunice announced in disbelief.

"You clearly know the answer to that query, sister." Lana said calmly, lighting a cigarette which was immediately knocked out of her fingers and ground into the concrete. She threw a bored glance in the nun's direction before turning her back and feigning interest in the repetitive splatter of head trauma against the wall.

"Trite, childish…_petulant?!" _ Mary Eunice was quaking in anger. "I have lured thousands to my arms with nothing but a few well-placed words."

"Well you certainly picked the right vessel." Lana commented, looking the nun up and down, "But your execution is terrible. Why don't you go try to lure Mr. Spivey again. He seems like he's more on your level. You know, I was afraid of you at first, but you're different than I thought, sister. You're unbearably…"

"Don't say it." Mary Eunice warned.

"Simple."

The nun stood up with a ferocity that didn't fit her lithe frame. The air in Lana's lungs was suddenly thin. She gasped for breath. Mary Eunice slapped her heartily on the back, rattling her bones. "Miss Winters! Oh dear, maybe you should consider putting down the cigarettes." Lana choked and coughed, and Mary Eunice's palm seemed to burn through her thin sweater. "I hear you, Lana Banana." She whispered, breath tickling the other woman's ear, "And you're right. You've made a mistake." She tapped Lana's temple firmly with a fingertip before stalking away. Lana continued to retch as Mary Eunice left the dayroom, a scowl on her face as she listened to Lana's defiant thoughts. The audacity of the reporter propelled her into a flurry of rage that she took out against a wall, imagining Lana cringing with fear before her power.


	3. Chapter 3

**So sorry for the delay! Real life has interfered with fantasy YET AGAIN! I promise I'll keep updating in a timely fashion. Your reviews spur me to greater heights.**

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><p>Much to Mary Eunice's dismay, nothing she could concoct seemed to sway Lana's opinion. The reporter had thought her heavily salted dinner was "pathetic". The cold shower had been "the sloppy attempt of a maniac to take away the rituals that kept me sane". Even blatant bullying had no effect on the stoic woman. When Mary Eunice had woken her up in the middle of the night with a knife in hand, Lana's initial fear had been quickly replaced by irritation. Even more troubling was the fact that the reporter's spot-on description had dissuaded the nun from some of the more petty tortures she loved to inflict on the other inmates. Sleep deprivation yielded less of a thrill than it used to. The same held for exhibitionism, vulgarity, poisoning, stabbing, and even the thrill of easy seduction (even though she still partook in all of them on principle). With the exception of the complicated jigsaw of deceit and torment that she concocted between herself, Dr. Arden, Sister Jude and the Monsignor, the day to day evil had been largely spoiled.<p>

She watched Lana enter the dayroom and try to nonchalantly plot with Kit and Grace. Talk about simple. Talk about obvious. The three would-be escape artists couldn't have been more blatant if they were hunched over a set of blueprints. Mary Eunice fumed in the corner as she doled out the day's medications and snuck a low dose of lithium into every fifth cup. Hadn't Lana ever read about evil? How could a woman, a homosexual woman, hold her to such high standards? Hadn't Lana suffered from pettiness? From harsh words and small-time terror? She was more than capable of subtlety, and she was certainly more worthy of Lana's fear than Sister Jude, the pathetic addict. She slammed the tray of pills down with a huff and walked over to the trio, enjoying the way their conversation ceased as she neared. Kit and Grace lowered their eyes, but Lana defiantly met her gaze, cigarette in hand, arms crossed over her chest.

"What can I do for you sister?" Her face was impassive

Mary Eunice pulled up a chair and sat down with a smile. "You can start by telling me why you're taking up with two of the most violent residents here at Briarcliff. Do you have your eyes on Grace here, Lana? Is that what's causing you to draw closer and closer to their bloodlust?"

"You're being dramatic. Is there a problem, or can I continue with my conversation?"

"Dramatic!" Mary Eunice's eyes widened and she bent down to hover in Lana's sight line. "That's rich coming from the woman who couldn't act straight for ten minutes in order to literally save her own life."

Lana sneered. "At least I'm not a bride of Christ. How does it feel being betrothed to a ghost? Does he hold you in his breezy arms? Tell you how much he loves you? I bet you just can't wait until the wedding night. "

Mary Eunice fumed. Disobedience from Lana was one thing, but the inquisitive gaze of the other inmates as they volleyed back and forth was something she wouldn't tolerate, especially when Lana's blasphemous comments made her toes curl. There would be no spectators to their little game. Grabbing the other woman's arm, Mary Eunice gave a forceful tug. "Get up. That mouth of yours is full of sin and Sister Jude has a bar of soap with your name on it."

She dragged Lana out of the dayroom and was bombarded by the reporter's thoughts. Rounding a corner, Mary Eunice spun Lana against the wall of an empty hallway. "You can think what you want about me, Miss Winters, but you will think it quietly."

Lana rolled her eyes.

Cocking her head to the side, Mary Eunice considered the woman in front of her. Greasy hair, shapeless smock, pale, heavy shadows under her eyes, strong jaw, and all those racing thoughts. "You aren't much to look at, Lana. If you keep up with the Briarcliff beauty regime, even I may not be able to stomach you."

"Well since we're alone, sister, let me be the one to tell you that I've had better. I may be a perversion to the church, but I have standards-some semblance of a soul being one of them. You're nice to look at, but once you open that mouth, it's all over."

Mary Eunice had heard enough. Grabbing the reporter's shoulders, she pushed her roughly against the wall. "Why aren't you afraid of me?" she growled, "I could ruin you with a word."

"You're desperate, sister." Lana leaned in close. "I can smell it on you. I intend to get out of this institution and resume my life. I don't know what it is that you want from me, but you're not the gatekeeper, and I have no use for you."

Mary Eunice grinned and began talking, "I am a prisoner here. I am a prisoner here. I am a prisoner here. I will never get out. There's nothing for me when I leave. I am a prisoner here."

"Stop." Lana breathed. Mary Eunice continued. "Stop!"

Stepping back, Mary Eunice smirked. "I found where you've been hiding your doubts, Lana. It's all about you, isn't it? That's the secret? Is that how you do it?"

"There's no one else." Lana said through gritted teeth. "There's no one to help me and no one I need to help. I imagine you're going to call me self-centered. I am. I have to be."

Mary Eunice pulled back. Lana's anger was quickly succumbing to a chasm of depression. The beautiful words she coveted were drying up, replaced with the choppy sentence fragments of defeat.

"Are you happy now?" Lana asked dully. "Congratulations. You've seen the foundation of my dreams. It's shit. Just like this place and these people."

Mary Eunice drew closer to the reporter and looked into her eyes. The muse was flying away. "No." she whispered. "I'm not happy." She had anticipated a different kind of victory over the other woman. She had craved the tête-à-tête. It was different from the games she played with Dr. Arden and Sister Jude; they were filled with secrets. Lana's only secret had been splayed on her intake file, and she was living with the repercussions every day. Lana's mind was obsessed with freedom. The others, her only worthy opponents, were filled with deceit.

Mary Eunice released Lana's arms and frowned as the other woman leaned dejectedly against the wall. "Go back to the day room." I won't tell Sister Jude about your indiscretion."

Lana shuffled away with a mumbled thank you, and Mary Eunice couldn't tell if it was the girl inside her or a selfish craving in her own Hellish soul, but she felt the need to restore Lana to her former self.


	4. Chapter 4

**Many thanks to Angelofsmalldeath for the revisions! More on the way soon!**

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><p>The stones beneath Mary Eunice's feet radiated cold into the late night. She opened her mind and let the inmates' thoughts pour in- gibberish and sadness, loneliness and anger. They were such blunt emotions. The innocent ones wanted to get out, the guilty ones wanted to get out, the hopelessly befuddled didn't even know where they were. She passed by Lana's cell and tuned in closely, but all she could pick up were variations of the mantra she had repeated to the journalist earlier in the day: freedom, escape, torture, worry. If she hadn't been listening to Lana's thoughts for the past few weeks, she wouldn't have been able to distinguish them from the masses. It upset her. She had enjoyed their dynamic. She called to mind an image of Wendy and imagined Lana coming home from the office, her mouth in motion as soon as she opened the door, detailing every minute of her day as her lover laughed brightly. Mary Eunice pictured them together, their limbs criss-crossing under middle class sheets in a well-kept home. Lana would never have that again. She was used to watching her back because of her sexual preferences, but after this, she would be forever hypervigilant. Mary Eunice didn't know how she felt about that. She wanted to claim Lana for her own. The spunk, the ambition, the plight of being born into a culture that cast her as a deviant- all these qualities covered Lana in a shadow that Mary Eunice found enticing. She wanted to pull her from the fog so that she could play with her.<p>

Harsh voices drew her attention; Dr. Arden and Sister Jude were going at it again. This delighted Mary Eunice, who, ever the lurker, decided to duck inside a cell to eavesdrop. She smiled as Jude eviscerated Arden with verbal barbs and clenched her fists with glee as he responded smugly. Their fire intoxicated her. They were both so alive. She tuned out the stupor of the inmates and honed in on the two voices as they clashed, their thoughts filled with flashes of misplaced anger, self-hatred, secrets, and regret. Jude's black habit and Arden's white lab coat swayed around their willowy bodies as they threatened each other, each second passing like a crank to some horrible, inevitable, jack-in-the-box surprise. Mary Eunice could feel the tension coiling and knew from years of experience that it was going to explode in short order.

Unlike humans, who waged war on each other with very real consequences, Mary Eunice had a different relationship with her adversaries. Even during the most successful exorcisms, she was never truly harmed, but merely displaced. The fact that every religious institution in the world had declared her an enemy was of little consequence. The most they could do was prevent her from entering their flock, and they couldn't even do that very well. She looked down at her hands and rubbed them together, enjoying the soft, warm, skin she inhabited. The ridiculous cross around her neck bobbed forward as she bent down to smooth out the black habit that covered her. It was nice to observe enemies instead of being the enemy. Her long existence read like an endless book of short stories in which she was the perpetual antagonist. It was the role she knew how to play; it was inevitable. Jude and Arden would eventually see her for what she was and wish her dead. Watching them turn on each other was like reading an opening paragraph, "There once was a dank, dark manor filled with madness. It was run by a tortured bride of Christ and a sadistic war criminal. They hated each other almost as much as they hated themselves. And then, the devil appeared, and everyone grew very, very afraid."

The narrative brought her mind back to Lana. Lana had seen her for what she was and hadn't fled in fear. Lana had stared straight into her eyes and mocked her. Lana had made her feel like something other than a plot device. Rising to her feet, Mary Eunice felt a hunger gnawing at her for something she hadn't experienced in a long time- a worthy opponent. Jude and Arden were retreating, ice pick stares focused on the dark hallways they traversed in the moaning night. With a creak, Mary Eunice scampered back to the reporter's cell and listened. The mantra of hopelessness continued.

How to do it? She had reduced Lana Winters to a drop in an ocean, an utterly average depressive. How to pull her out? Red lips twitched in impatience. She couldn't squelch her again; she had to appeal to Lana's ambition, create a new reality within the prison walls that would eclipse the obsession with her former life. Something challenging, something stimulating, something irresistible. She needed bait. Mary Eunice grabbed the bars of Lana's cell and peered inside. The other woman was curled in the fetal position, staring at the wall. There was no evidence of contraband, no shred of journalistic curiosity. Suddenly, it clicked. Words. Words and women. That was the formula.

"Lana," she whispered. There was no response from the body on the bed. "I know you're not catatonic. You shouldn't ignore me."

There was a long pause. "Why not? You've already done enough damage today. Leave me alone to rot."

Mary Eunice furrowed her brow and tapped her fingers impatiently on the door.

"Stop it." Came the soft voice in the darkness.

"After weeks of trying to get under your skin, you're telling me that a little _noise_ is the straw that breaks your back?"

"I'm not telling you anything you don't already know." Lana's voice was tinged with irritation.

It was all the spark Mary Eunice needed. She tapped her fingers harder. "An evil bitch? Lana, you never resort to vulgarity. You must be pretty angry with me to be thinking such nasty words." Mary Eunice could practically feel the emotion rising in the cell. "Sadistic? There you go. Pull out some fifty-cent words. Relentlessly childlike in her torture? Yes! That's exactly what's happening! Good girl. I like this a lot better than the virgin-whore clichés you were dabbling in last week. What else do you think of me, Miss Banana?"

Lana sat up sharply and glared at Mary Eunice, fingers gripping the bed.

"You want to kill me?"

The reply was cold and clear. "Yes."

"Tell me all about it."

Lana stalked over to the door and her eyes narrowed. "I want to wrap my fingers around your throat and squeeze until I block the poison that comes out of your foul mouth. I want to bend your neck like a garden hose. I'm not afraid of you. I was never afraid of you."

"I know. But I broke you."

"You did. But I would have come back. I'm stronger than you think."

"You have no idea what I think."

Lana drew closer to the bars, her skin sallow. "Enlighten me then."

"You think you have a grasp of language? You think you're some kind of maestro because I've let you strut around here playing to my pride?" Mary Eunice chuckled. "I'll tell you what I want, Miss Winters, and I'll say it so that you feel it all the way to your queer little toes. Take it as literally or metaphorically as you'd like." Her blue eyes were suddenly very close, the bars between them as heavy as a confessional. "I'm going to do to you what teeth do to an apple, Lana." Her voice softened, "I'm going to devour you."

Lana scowled.

"I'm going to press that thin skin taut until I can taste you." She cocked her head. "I'll feast on your sweetness, your tartness, that life that's pumping in you, right below the surface, the little bit that leaks out when we speak. It's mine. And when I finish, and you're spent and dripping and bruised, I'm going to savor the soreness in my jaw, the way you linger on my palette."

Lana's pupils were dilated and her chest rose and fell quickly in the shadows.

"And when I'm done with you, you'll be a fond memory." Mary Eunice pressed her lips close to the metal, "But you'll be one of a million meals I've had in my lifetime. And even without a shock to the brain, it's hard to remember every little bit of sustenance that passes by."

"You're saying I'm forgettable?" Lana rasped without missing a beat.

"A shiny distraction."

Words flooded into Mary Eunice's brain: Indignity, arrogance, power hungry, unholy, the usual list of nasty adjectives. There was a change, however. Mixed in with the biting accuracy of Lana's anger were nodes of springtime: cornflower blue, supple, soft, sunlight. Sentences began to unfurl, and then paragraphs. Lana's brain lit up so brightly that Mary Eunice drew back momentarily in admiration. In her confusion and outrage, Lana betrayed the depth of her intelligence, and Mary Eunice breathed it in. They observed each other for a moment before Mary Eunice gave a playful wink and turned away. She was pleased to hear Lana's voice whisper down the hall.

"Sister. Come back."

Smirking, the nun slowly approached the cell. She tilted her head and looked in with hooded eyes. "Yes, Miss Winters?"

"You have my attention. You're going to have to work to keep it. Who's to say I won't forget you as soon as I get out?"

Mary Eunice rolled her eyes and walked away, but she smiled as she neared her room, relishing the unspoken words that Lana broadcast in her wake.

_ I hadn't realized until that moment that there was such beauty in darkness. Insects crawling in the night still glimmer. Even the most gruesome beasts have beauty like a clock has beauty, so many parts unseen.. She revealed something to me that night, some gear or cog that twirled along with dozens of others in her mind. But this one was golden. This one was new. Something in her pulled instead of repelling. Her skin was now moonlit, not corpse-like. Her fingers were like a pianist's, not a ghoul's. Her teasing was a ledge I could climb on to escape the unbearable indignity of confinement. The risk, of course, was that her joy lay in pitching me back in._


	5. Chapter 5

**I want them to be friends! But they can't be friends because she's the devil! But I want them to be! Am I crazy? Posting tonight is a birthday present to myself because real life has been getting in the way of writing, which makes me sad. Your reviews make me happy and I don't want to spoil the next chapter, but let's just say that Lana's dreams are about to get really interesting.**

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><p>A week passed, and therapy began. Lana was a retching, tortured mess. Dr. Thredson's sympathetic shoulder pats were an uncomfortable comfort after the shame and confusion and soft, masculine flesh that lay hard in her hand like a wiggling sea creature. The picture of Wendy lay tucked beneath her pillow, but Lana's sense of sensuality was gone, evaporated. Mary Eunice could feel it hovering like a cloud above her head. Its absence was reflected in her nightly musings, crystal clear and dry as a bone.<p>

_Another appointment. I would assume that the therapy was working because I feel nothing, but it extends beyond my sense of lust or love. I can imagine life beyond the walls of Briarcliff, but I don't know if I want to. It was a secret, but it was _my_ secret-lips and curls and shared stockings. No one knew that the brown hair stuck to my jacket wasn't my own, and I treasured my secret, my oddity, knowing that she was eating the lunch I had packed her in a classroom ten miles away. If the therapy works, and I vomit away the parts of me that have always set me apart, will I leave dressed happily in pastels? Will I ever wear slacks again? Hold someone's jaw in my fingers and pull them close? Will I be doomed to a life of waving goodbye as my husband leaves me at the door?_

"Are you saying that your career is inextricably linked to who you fuck?" Mary Eunice peeked inside Lana's cell.

"Go away, terrible thing. I'm not interested in playing with you tonight."

"You're very troubled, Lana."

"You would be too, if you had to choose between living in this prison or imprisoning part of yourself so that you could leave."

"Hold that thought." Mary Eunice scampered off into the darkness, leaving an irritated Lana alone with her musings. The nun returned ten minutes later. The sound of a key in the lock sent the reporter scrambling to the back corner of the cell, blindly searching for a weapon. Mary Eunice's habit ghosted near the door, fiddling with it until she turned, wielding a bottle of wine and two glasses, her pale face appearing to float in the darkness.

"What are you doing?" Lana hissed, pointing at the door, "Get out! I'll call Sister Jude!"

Mary Eunice rolled her eyes. "Oh please. And say what?" Her voice raised an octave, "Oh sister Jude! The bad, bad nun came into my cell late at night with alcohol. I swear nothing happened! I'm not even attracted to her!" She smirked. "We both know that's not true."

"You're evil."

"Tell me something new, inmate." Mary Eunice plopped herself on the floor and set the bottle down as she folded her legs until she looked like a black bowling pin. "I need a drink." She reached into a small bag tied around her waist and pulled out a petite loaf of bread. "You spent all day vomiting. If you're going to be my drinking companion, you need to eat something because I don't want to clean up after you."

Lana stomped over and snatched the bread out of her hand, ripping off a piece and shoving it in her mouth. "If I drink with you, will you tell me what's wrong with you?"

"Maybe. Depends how interesting you make it."

"Got any more food?"

Mary Eunice pulled a wedge of cheese out of the bag, swinging it out of the way when Lana reached for it and pointing at the floor. "Sit."

"Am I a dog now?"

"If you were, I'd be giving you a cookie."

Lana sat down with a huff and Mary Eunice handed her the cheese. "You're a different kind of pet."

"There it is."

The nun smiled, uncorking the wine and rising up on her knees to fill their glasses. "It's cold in here."

Lana chewed thoughtfully before taking a sip. "I'm surprised you can feel the cold."

"I can't," Mary Eunice replied, "but _she _can." She took in Lana's skeptical look and hurriedly elaborated. "I control everything, of course."

"Of course"

"But I'm still at her mercy once in a while." She gestured to the ceiling with her free hand, dark wine sloshing softly as she cradled it to her chest. "I can only see what she can see. I can only feel what she can feel. Now granted, most humans are only experiencing a fraction of what your bodies are capable of. She's in there somewhere marveling at the things we've done, how strong her body is now that it's being used effectively."

"Does she know what's going on right now?"

"Oh yes." Mary Eunice's eyes grew hazy. "She's like a little bird in a cage, withering away. Would you like to speak with her?"

"I'd rather not." Lana replied around a mouthful of cheese. "I don't want to hear anyone else's misery right now. I don't need to talk to other prisoners. Give me a few minutes to pretend I'm anywhere but here, ok? Bread, cheese, wine, a beautiful woman. Now all we need is something in common, which, of course, ruins the whole illusion because you know…" she waved her hand in Mary Eunice's direction, "you're you."

"Well that's just it, Lana!" Mary Eunice said brightly, gesticulating again, "We actually have a lot in common when you think about it!"

"How? You're my warden. And you're the warden of that poor, innocent girl who you've…possessed? Is that the situation?"

"I'm certainly the warden. I'm also the prisoner. I understand what it's like for you in here. Being trapped in a human body is a lot like a sane person being stripped of their dignity. But imagine for a moment that you were an Olympian who lost their legs, or a physicist who lost the ability to do math, or an artist whose hands were chopped off. That's what it's like for me in this body. I will never regain the splendor that I lost. Your peak is orders of magnitude less than mine, but I imagine that it must be hard to lose, nonetheless. Like a little wingless fly."

"And you're some kind of fallen angel?"

"I'm just a fellow prisoner. "Mary Eunice smirked into her wine glass and squinted into Lana's gaze.

"What should I call you?"

"You can call me Mary." Mary Eunice replied. "I like to turn a classic on its head." She slid the veil from her scalp and shook out the long, blonde hair underneath. "Mary Eunice would be fine too. The girl inside is _Sister_ Mary Eunice. She's more insistent about titles. I only use them because I get wet when people mistake me for a member of the flock. The _flock, _Lana. They call themselves sheep with pride!" The nun's cheeks were becoming red as she gulped down the wine. "She's not really a prisoner, you know. I mean, she regrets the whole situation now, but I couldn't have gotten into her brain without an open door."

"That's ridiculous. I met Sister Mary Eunice. She wouldn't have ever let you in."

"Look into my eyes, Lana." Mary Eunice stared at the other woman unflinchingly. "Do you see anything?"

"They're nice eyes" Lana began.

"I know that," Mary Eunice snapped, "but do you see anything different from when you first met the good sister?"

Lana shook her head, confused. The nun's eyes were blue and piercing.

Mary Eunice sighed loudly. "Let me give you something to compare them to." The muscles in her face jerked once and Lana was transfixed as the woman's features softened, her eyebrows furrowing as she looked around, dazed. Her eyes were soft and dreamy, as inconstant as a passing cloud. They focused on Lana briefly before her face twitched again and the young nun was lost to the gnashing musculature of her possessor, angles appearing where there had been curves.

"Those," Mary Eunice explained, "are the doe eyes of a child. I walked in there and took over with nothing more than the promise of some rock candy. Ignorance, Lana. Simplicity. Ignorance is as fertile to me as a wicked mind."

They sat in silence, sipping thoughtfully. Mary Eunice tilted her head to the side and began to braid her hair, sliding her fingers through any tangles as she worked her way downward. The wine made Lana's head spin. She hadn't thought that the nun would be a good companion, especially without the words that fueled their strange affinity. The company was a welcome respite, however, and the cloud of her banished emotions began to drizzle, then rain. She thought of Wendy, but even more, she thought of birds and breezes and the bitter realities of being a woman. She poured herself another glass and gulped half of it.

"Your thoughts are very colorful when you've been drinking" Mary Eunice observed.

"Colorful?" The reporter giggled. "Like a rainbow?"

"In the future, people like you will use rainbows to identify themselves."

"You're drunk too." Lana responded.

Mary Eunice laughed. "I don't get drunk."

"But I bet_ she_ does! Your cheeks are red."

Mary Eunice just smiled in response and tied the braid off with a small ribbon. She rose suddenly and began to gather the food and drink, plucking Lana's glass and draining it herself. "I'm doing you a favor." She explained, ignoring the other woman's pout. "You don't need any more."

Lana stood and stumbled, catching herself on the bed. "What was this all about, Mary?" No one gives a shit what I think in here, and I'm not in any position to spar with you. I'm a little drunk, you know?" She lay on her bed and folded her hands above her head. "I'm like one of those girls in the pulp novels where there's a secret _other_ lesbian. Locked up. Tough. I'm supposed to be the one who seduces the new girl and then gets sent off to solitary. Do you know those books? Do you even read?"

Mary Eunice watched the reporter with her head cocked to the side and let her ramble.

"Do you get it? In the book, _I'm_ the lesbian."

"Obviously"

"Shh. Ok. I'm the lesbian, and I'm in here because I'm really really tough. Maybe I killed someone, but I'm probably just misunderstood. Then, a new girl comes in, and she hasn't done anything wrong either, but they think she has."

"Unrealistic, Lana. You're all here for something."

"Ok. She stole some candy. Just let me have this." Lana sat up and started moving her hands rapidly as she spoke, "Well Sister Jude is _also_ a lesbian. But she'd never admit it and she has her eyes on the new girl because she's so pretty, but before she can lure her up to her office, I step in and tell her the truth."

"And let me guess, you fall in love?"

"No, Mary. That's amateurish." Lana rolled her eyes and continued, "The new girl, she looks like Kim Novak, by the way."

"Of course"

"Well she's got a secret. She isn't just a candy thief. She's _also_ a reporter. She's supposed to be my replacement at the paper!"

"I thought you were in jail because you were too tough. Or maybe because you murdered someone." Mary Eunice couldn't help the grin that spread across her face.

"But I'm always going to be a reporter. Can you picture me doing anything else? I mean, you're _always _going to be a nun. Even when you let your hair down, you're always going to be a nun. Anyway, I lost my train of thought, but basically, the whole story is going to be a cat and mouse game. I'm the hero, obviously. And yeah, we could fall in love, but I doubt it. Love isn't real or permanent."

"But Sister Jude being a lesbian is totally plausible."

"She's tormented, secretive, hard, supposedly celibate, loves to expose women's backsides, and I think she shows you a lot of attention. Why not?"

Mary Eunice walked over to Lana with her arms crossed, wine glasses clinking in her fingers. "Lana, you are bright and odd, and I will continue to antagonize you as long as you are here." She bent down and placed a bemused kiss on the other woman's forehead before turning and exiting the cell with aplomb, shaking her head at the other woman's intoxicated imagination.

"I could drink you under the table on the outside" Lana's voice mumbled down the hall.

Mary Eunice entered her room and placed the contraband food and drink on the bedside table. The space was almost as bare as the prison cells. She undid the clasp at the back of her neck and let the habit pool at her feet. Although the sisters were supposed to share sleeping quarters, Sister Mary Eunice was in Jude's favor and had been lucky enough to room alone.

Mary Eunice sat on the edge of her bed and reached for a cigarette she had plucked from Lana's cardigan. She raised her eyebrows and the end began to glow. Lying back on the starched sheets she kicked off her shoes, running her hands along her ribcage, admiring the way the simple stockings and undergarments showcased her body. It reminded her of past possessions and past costumes: peasant girls with no underclothes and young men who kept their genitals tied to their bodies. Eyeing the electric light in the corner, she knew she was nearing the end of simple times, and took the moment to bask in her body's virginity. It was such an arbitrary thing, the sex act. She closed her eyes and her fingertips found the edge of her simple brassiere. Casting a wide net with her mind, she simultaneously probed the thoughts of Sister Mary Eunice and Lana Winters, searching for a common spark. She took a deep drag and ignored her body's urge to gasp as the smoke clogged up fluttering lungs. Lana was fast asleep, her dreams peppered with terror and memories. Sister Mary Eunice, unwittingly basking in the aftermath of wine and cigarettes, was contemplating the finer points of a movie she had snuck into as a child. Something with a car parked on a cliff. And music, slow, music that accompanied the tryst of a couple as they kissed in the moonlight. Mary Eunice's eyes snapped open with glee and she stubbed out her cigarette, rushing to the window to air out the small room. She slid between the sheets with purpose and retreated to the depths of her power. A golden thread began to wind its way through the asylum until it flitted around Lana's throat, winding up to her ear and snaking inside. As her body lay resting, Mary Eunice traversed the distance between herself and the reporter, intent on planting the seeds of chaos right in the middle of Lana's own mind.


End file.
